


Little Moon

by Lothlan



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dancing, Dunking on Magnai, Eventual Smut, F/F, Friendship, Intimacy, Mutual Crushes, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Stargazing, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Sunsets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothlan/pseuds/Lothlan
Summary: Two women, both having spurned the avatar of Azim, meet by chance on the Steppe.
Relationships: Y'shtola Rhul/Cirina Mol
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	1. A Weary Soul

The Azim Steppe was beautiful - at least, according to the Warrior of Light. The ever excitable adventurer had enthused for what often felt like hours, describing the vast fields of the Xaela lands. The sun beat down on the faded grass below, with little shelter from its heat to be found. The many colored tents of Reunion made for an incredible sight of many tribes, all trading together. And above them all, the Dawn Throne sat atop the waters, solemnly watching over the peoples of the steppe.

Y’shtola, of course, saw none of this. To her, the Azim Steppe was much the same as everywhere else she went nowadays - a sea of aether, with a few particularly bright spots. Ever since she had returned from the Lifestream back to the Scions, their adventurer friend had started to take to describing the sights for her. She supposed it was endearing, in its own way, even if what she saw was more than enough to get by.

Though, in the adventurer’s defense, the Azim Steppe was, at least, new to Y’shtola. With her injury from the battle at Rhalgr’s Reach, she wasn’t able to accompany the Scions to Doma, and never reached the steppe until now. Being guided, for once, rather than being the guide, wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

And she couldn't say she blamed the Warrior of Light for feeling so happy, so at home, among the Xaela. After all, ever since she'd met her, all that time ago in Limsa Lominsa, she knew what those black horns and scales meant, even if that young adventurer didn't. Could she really blame someone for wanting to see her home, and meet her people, for the first time?

Still, it grew… tiring, at times, when their work was put on pause for every single blade of grass. So Y'shtola was more than a little relieved that her idea of staying with the Mol for the night and a day besides, before they continued with their work, had taken. The Mol Iloh was a spot of hospitality and quiet among the hostility of the Steppe.

She sat by a campfire, feeling the air at her back grow colder as the sun seemed to set. Though she couldn't see its light anymore, she still knew the signs of its fading. The day had been long, and more than a little exhausting. But at least here and now, she could at last have a measure of solitude.

"Khorkog?"

Y'shtola suppressed a sigh - of course. She looked up from her internal musings, blinking as the spot of aether before her cleared into who she recognized as Cirina. The Mol was standing before her, and seemed to be holding two steaming bowls of… something. She gingerly took one, and the smell of mutton hit her.

"How kind of you," she said, looking up at her. "Do you make a habit of offering stews to strangers?"

"Only the ones who need it," Cirina returned without losing a beat. "Buuz has been far more popular with outsiders, but I find that a hearty serving of khorkog does wonders for a weary soul after a long day."

"If there is anything this weary soul could use, it’s a steaming cup of tea," Y’shtola said, before taking the scent of the stew in again. She had said that, but in truth, this would be more than an acceptable substitute. She had grown to appreciate such subtle scents and flavors all the more since losing her sight, and a warm stew was hardly something to look down on.

“You’ll have to share some with me sometime,” she heard Cirina say, before she took a seat nearby her. Y’shtola took a moment, before she took the first bite of the stew before her. The meat had a strong, yet mellow flavor - like a good deal of game she had tried. She felt the corners of her lips turn upwards as the warmth traveled down her body.

“In its absence, this will suffice,” she eventually said. “After this long day and an even longer encounter with the Oronir, a sunset with warm food and pleasant company is near perfect.”

She could almost hear the smile in the way Cirina chuckled at her, before she heard the telltale signs that she had begun to eat. Y’shtola took a moment to examine her - or rather, her aether. Hers was far more subtle than those of the likes of Sadu or Magnai, fitting for the much more quiet goat herders of the Mol. It was something of an anomaly, in the Steppe. But it was a pleasant anomaly: quiet, but not completely still. Like someone poised and ready for battle, but waiting for the chance to put down their weapon.

Cirina eventually spoke once more, after a few moments. "You mentioned an encounter with the Oronir? Would you mind telling me more?" Though her words were in the form of a question, Y'shtola couldn't shake the feeling that Cirina already knew the answer. It was something about her voice, so resigned to the next words.

"I had a most unfortunate run-in with their leader. He…" Y'shtola heard a telltale snort, and trailed off. She certainly didn't need to see, to hear the Xaela across from her trying and ultimately failing to stifle her laughter. One of her ears perked at the noise. "Is something amiss?"

Cirina brought her hand up to her chin, peering over the fire at Y'shtola. "Forgive my interruption, but I think I know the next part of your tale. Brother Magnai leaned far too close to you, stared into your eyes, and asked you if you were his Nhaama." Her giggles permeated her speech, almost preventing her from finishing her sentence. "Does that sound familiar?"

Y'shtola's lips curled the slightest amount upwards. "I take it you're familiar with this, ah, custom." They had been battling mere moments before, and then Magnai had tried to come onto her with all of the grace and tact of a sack of bricks. She had been very much less than impressed.

"I've begun to doubt there's a woman on the Steppe who isn't familiar." Cirina chuckled. "I'm sure he'd ask a matanga, if he could determine their gender."

"I suppose if our little sun is anything, he's persistent." She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Now if only he had any intelligence to go along with such dedication.”

“Or a personality that was more than an axe and a deep loneliness.” Cirina paused, then some of Y’shtola’s words sunk into her. “Little sun? Oh, so you must be the one I have heard of. Tell me: did he sound as small as everyone says, when you rebuffed him?”

Y’shtola's only response was a small, knowing smile.

"Hah! Your words spread like wildfire, Y’shtola. Though not as fast as Sadu Khatun's laughter - it carried all the way to the Dawn Throne, if the stories are to be believed."

"I would hardly be surprised. The Dotharl khan's voice was near loud enough to shatter my ears." Sadu had been… more than a handful. Y'shtola had been perfectly content to leave her to fight Magnai while she attended to her business. "I'll be quite glad for a lifetime without either of them grating at my patience."

The Mol shrugged, tacitly admitting to the consistent test of her own patience. "It's not all bad, once you grow more accustomed to their… habits. After I rebuffed Brother Magnai's advances, I must admit I've been quite entertained watching him fail again and again."

Y'shtola chuckled along with Cirina. "There is value in a never ending comedy of errors, after all. Perhaps I will spend the morrow tailing him, to see whom next he tries his little line on."

Cirina paused at that. "Tomorrow? I was under the impression that you would be leaving with the sunrise."

"I'm sure that's what our friend wants," Y'shtola said, glancing in the adventurer's direction. In a way, she had to admire her dedication to always working toward her goals, never so much as slowing pace. But sometimes, she had to put her foot down. "I reminded her that some of us have mortal limits on our capabilities. I won't be able to channel the required aether immediately, after such a fight. So we'll be resting here for a day."

Cirina's voice grew brighter, as though the sun had risen all over again. "Then your timing is most fortuitous, Y'shtola. Tomorrow brings with it a celebration, as brought about by the gods. You would be quite welcome to join us - you and your friends all."

Y'shtola shook her head a little. "Are you certain? It does sound fascinating, but I am an outsider, after all. I would not know the first thing of Mol ceremony."

"Of course!" The smile grew more obvious in Cirina's voice - Y'shtola could almost picture it. "I would be delighted in the chance to share our culture with you and all that have come here."

Y'shtola looked down, then towards the sunset. She smiled a little - much more warmly than the spiteful smirk she had for Magnai. "Then you shall see me there," she said, turning back to Cirina. She couldn't see her eyes, but she knew for certain that they were gazing at each other, sharing a smile in the last rays of the sun.

At least, until they remembered that their food was growing cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unless I missed something, I don't think there's any content of these two and you know what? That's a crime, and I'm here to make it right


	2. The Young Night Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'shtola and Cirina share a long day together, filled with closeness and celebration.

Y'shtola hadn't always cared for music.

It wasn't long ago that music wasn't anything more than a distraction from her work. Each time she heard anything of the sort nearby while she was studying, she felt the temptation to tell them to knock it off.

But hearing the morin khuur, as Cirina had called it, Y'shtola could appreciate the tones, and how the soft melodies weaved their way into her mind. She nearly felt the slow vibrations of the bow dragged across its strings in her heart. The music was slow, gentle, and glided through the air like the breeze. Rather than melancholic or romantic, it was an almost reverent melody. Fitting, with the quieted explanation Cirina had offered her, telling her of a song meant to thank the gods for their guidance over the past season. 

She supposed the Mol had a great deal to be grateful for. After all, they were the most recent winners of the Nadaam, with the vaunted Warrior of Light among their allies. But when Y’shtola had mentioned it, Cirina had denied it quite simply: “Whether we are brought to glory or ruin, we are still thankful for the elder gods. They do not have to speak to us, after all.” Y’shtola could almost admire the simplicity of their lifestyle.

Her eyes closed as she listened to the notes of the morin khuur. It didn’t make much difference to her personally, of course - she still couldn’t see, besides the aether that was ever-present in her vision. But it almost felt right to do, to show that she was giving the ceremony the respect it deserved.

It offered her a chance to reflect, if nothing else. The morning had started out simple enough, until she happened on Cirina with a bundle of wool, freshly claimed from some of the sheep that the Mol took care of. What was meant to be a quiet, contemplative morning, turned into watching as she stomped and rolled wet fibers until they resembled a square of felt. Though it certainly wasn’t the same as a cup of lavender tea, watching the repetitive motions, with only the occasional question about the process for Cirina, proved to be almost as calming. 

The ceremony wouldn’t be for some time, even after Cirina was finished, which gave them a chance for idle conversation. Even when they had little to talk about, Y'shtola found conversation quite naturally with her. The morning was whiled away with ease, as Cirina spoke of the Steppe, and she spoke in turn of both her old home of Sharlayan, and her new home of the Rising Stones.

Cirina had taken the chance to briefly show her around the Mol Iloh, and acquaint her with how the ceremony would proceed - little more than a simple song, to thank the gods, she had put it. At Y'shtola's questioning, she'd explained to her exactly how the gods spoke to the Mol- how they spoke directly to her grandmother, the udgan. Through her, they relayed their instructions to the tribe. Though it wasn’t something she’d anticipated, she was glad for the chance to learn more of Cirina’s home.

The Azim Steppe had been a mass of fog in Y’shtola’s sight, when she had first arrived. And in truth, much of it was still the same way. But the Mol village was much clearer now. Cirina had shown her much, and guided her well. It made it easier for her to appreciate their music, as a proper thanks to the gods that guided the Mol through their everyday life. She listened as the musician played. She could feel how still everyone else was- even the adventurer, excitable as she tended to be. It almost felt like she had somehow reached the Holy See in the middle of its most consecrated hour.

The song seemed to end after a while, with a single note held for so very long. Y’shtola wondered just how long the bow to this instrument was, to sustain such a pitch. The moment threatened to stretch to eternity, a single note held forever…

Until one of the Mol began to clap, in a rhythm that Y’shtola did not recognize.

As one started, so did another, then still another, until it felt like the whole tribe was clapping to the same rhythm. Even the Warrior of Light had joined in. Even Y’shtola’s ears were beginning to twitch along to the imagined beat.

And as the beat came alive, so did the morin khuur. Where once was reverence, now was a manic sort of joy. The melody seemed to swing to and fro, along with the improvised rhythm. And with it, several of the Mol began to break away from their circle, and into dance. Some were alone, but many formed pairs as they danced. Y’shtola could sense Cirina’s aether, clearest of all of them, growing closer to her. She watched her, in anticipation, as her steps took her right in front of her.

“Won't you dance with me, Y’shtola?” Her voice was alight with both the melody and the company she shared.

Y’shtola’s lips curled in a wry grin. "What cheek, to bring me into a dance I know no steps for."

"Steps?" Cirina laughed, and Y'shtola could hear her wide grin in the melody of her voice. "There aren't any steps! You need only move as the music guides you! Here, let me help you." Her hands immediately took Y'shtola's, as she pulled her into the fray, apparently not hearing a word of protest. 

Y’shtola blinked as she felt her hands within Cirina’s. Her movements were nearly involuntary, as she moved along with her. She had been right - it wasn’t a complicated dance, or much of a dance at all. Their movements were little more than stepping vaguely to the rhythm. But all the same, she couldn’t deny the energy to the way the tribe moved: chaotic, yet somehow in sync. She felt almost swept up in it all. It had to be the music itself, having changed so suddenly to something almost manic.

That was to say nothing of the even stranger feeling of having her own hands within Cirina’s. She could’ve pulled herself away at any point. She doubted that Cirina would have even put up a fuss. But Cirina’s hands gave her mind an anchor to focus on. She could feel just how soft her skin was, and yet at the edges of Cirina’s wrists, she could feel the tough scales of the Xaela encroaching. In a way, it matched her aether, and her entire image. Beneath the warrior of the Steppe was someone who loved little more than spending her days quietly. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

Whichever it was, Y’shtola could see a reflection of herself in that image. She too, had little taste for fighting, but often found it necessary. Perhaps that was why she had so easily taken to Cirina’s presence? No, that couldn’t be the entire reason for it. There had to be something else. 

Cirina moved in a circle around Y’shtola, turning her along. The joy was more than apparent in her movements, and was such a stark contrast only minutes prior. She glanced beside her, and could sense their adventurer friend pulling Hien in a similar dance. A grin slowly spread across her face. “This is quite a strange way of showing thanks to your elder gods.”  
  
A laugh let itself out of Cirina. “Perhaps to you! We give thanks by showing the happiness their guidance has brought into our lives. At times that calls for solemnity, and other times, it calls for celebration!”

Y’shtola gave a small chuckle of her own to Cirina, as they moved to the beat. Try as she might, she couldn’t completely wipe the smile from her face. The music, alongside her movements with Cirina - and indeed, the rest of the Mol, made for an infectious sort of joy. It was very nearly enough for her to want to stay for more than just the day.

For just a moment, she could forget the duties that hovered over her.

* * *

It was still the early afternoon when Y’shtola eventually found her distance from the festivities. She looked over the vast fields of the Steppe. How strange, she wondered, that a land that was so hostile and dangerous, could also hold such vibrant life. Even here, by herself, she could see the small dots of aether, likely little rabbits or the like, moving among the grass.

However, she was sure she wouldn’t be alone for long. And sure as she had thought it, Y'shtola felt a much more familiar aether approaching her. As Cirina walked closer, she smiled. "Have you had enough of the celebrations, then?"

"I was going to ask you the same," Cirina retorted. "You were quick to retreat from it, after all. Was the noise too much for you?" Her voice sounded unsure of herself.

She shook her head. "The revelry is lovely, to be sure. But I am far more used to quiet, during my studies or my excursions. Such noise normally indicates something going quite wrong."

"It's a small wonder you've scarce gotten used to this land, then. Why, noise and revelry are the norm." Cirina stepped beside her, sounding less worried and more amused now.

"I grew quite aware of that when I first stepped among the tents of Reunion." Y'shtola turned more towards Cirina, a warm expression on her face. "Not to say it is unpleasant, of course."

"I understand. Though I'm much more…" Cirina hesitated a moment, trying to find the right word. "...accustomed, to the goings-on of the Steppe, I can't rightly say I don't long for the quiet. At least for a little while." She waited for a moment, as though she were searching for the right words to say. "If you like, I know such a place. Secluded, and far away from the village. I could lead you there at sundown."

Y'shtola offered a good-natured smirk to Cirina. "You’re quite interested in leading me along today, aren't you?" 

"Not at all. Your time is your own - you have every right to refuse." She could practically hear the cheeky smile in her voice.

A few seconds passed, before Y'shtola let out a chuckle. "Oh, go on, then. You will see me with the sundown."

As Cirina returned to the rest of her tribe, Y’shtola had to wonder once more why it was so easy for her to agree to her suggestions. First to being here for the Mol’s celebration of their gods, now this.

She eventually sighed, and shrugged a little to herself, wearing a light smile as she watched the festivities from a comfortable distance. Perhaps that was one question she didn’t need the answer for just yet. 

* * *

Once more, Y’shtola felt the heat of the sun dissipate, as day slowly turned into night. It was a relaxing feeling, as she settled into a seated position on the carpet. She and Cirina had walked some distance after the ceremony, before they found a relatively secluded slope to speak more privately at. Normally, Y’shtola felt little need for such a thing. But with Cirina, she wanted to have just a few moments that were only for the two of them. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but each moment with Cirina only made her want more of those moments, in quiet peace. They almost made the battles with Sadu and Magnai, as well as their impending visit to the House of the Crooked Coin, worth it.

Almost.

"Do you know the night sky well? I've wondered if it's the same in the West as here, ever since meeting our adventurer friend." Cirina's voice was bright as ever as the day began to fade, and the celebrations began to grow quiet.

It just barely occurred to Y'shtola that her voice was quite close as she sat, but she made no mind of it. She couldn't say she had a problem with Cirina being so close to her - after all, they had already been close together as they danced.

She looked upwards, slowly shaking her head. "It has been a small number of years since I saw the night sky. But I can't imagine it has changed since then."

"Hm." Cirina paused for a moment, considering something or other. "Here." She shifted a little closer, and took Y'shtola's wrist in her hand. Once more, her brazenness was a surprise, but a welcome one. Cirina gently brought their hands upward, as though gesturing towards the sky. "That is Tuyuhun, the Trapper. His prey is beneath, seeing a tasty morsel but missing the snare to its side." As she spoke, she moved her hand, and Y'shtola's own along with, a crude illustration of her story. 

Crude, and yet Y'shtola's mind could picture the movements, in what was previously a sea of black. Small white dots appeared in the sky she'd been blind to before, dancing to Cirina's words. As her hand moved in the shape she was describing, she could almost recall exactly the alignment of the stars. Not that she could remember the names of constellations from the top of her head - academic matters of that nature were always more of Urianger's purview. "I've not heard of such a figure," she said.

"I'd be quite surprised if you had," came Cirina's response. "He is a warrior of the Steppe, after all, and not your Sharlayan."

"Mm." Y'shtola looked towards the sky - a canvas of black, with one spot filled. "Show me another."

"Well…" Cirina inched Y'shtola's hand downwards. "There is Bardam the Brave, taming the first yol of the Xaela. It was through the trials he faced that we came to claim dominion over the skies, as well as the land. We all must pass the same trials as he, now, to prove ourselves as he did."

"And our adventurer friend did the same? I have heard the same cries from her new companion as in Reunion."

"As I understand it, the outsiders tackled Bardam's Mettle together. It's not unheard of, but…" Cirina chuckled a little. "It's perhaps telling of the nature of our khagan's strength. For being born of the Xaela, she is Western in every way."

Y'shtola chuckled as well. In truth, she knew none stronger than the Warrior of Light. But her strength was in the conjuring of her egi, and in her breadth of knowledge of a great many histories. But her strength of arms had always left something to be desired. “I’ve known her for a long time,” she said. “She never was much for these methods of fighting, but there are precious few I would trust more.”

“I can tell. Your eyes light up when you speak of her.”  
  
Y’shtola blinked. “You can tell such a thing? My eyes don’t exactly function like others. Or much at all.”  
  
“That doesn’t make the light behind them any less clear.”

For a moment, the two were quiet. Y’shtola felt new emotions stirring within her chest, bringing a strange and quite unfamiliar warmth to her. Unfamiliar, but far from unwelcome. Most people, when they talked of her blindness, spoke of it as an obstacle of some sort, something to lament. There were exceptions, of course - her fellow scions, chief among them. But for most others, speaking of her blindness seemed to feel like walking on shattered glass. Y’shtola had never quite felt that way about it all, and somewhat resented the pity of others. But to Cirina, it seemed like her lack of eyesight was barely a factor at all. It required a few adjustments, but it was hardly an end to anything Cirina had planned.

It was… refreshing.

After a second-too-long pause, Y’shtola drew herself closer to Cirina. She offered a gentle smile, and let her hand remain where it was, in Cirina’s, pointing towards the sky. As a tacit invitation.

A small, melodious laugh sounded from Cirina, as she began once more. With each movement of their joined hands, came another story from her, often of some ancient Xaela figure or another. And with each of Cirina’s stories, the night sky was filled that much more in Y’shtola’s mind. A small grouping of dots here, a tapestry of shapes there. Her words painted the sky as any master would their canvas, her medium being the stories of her ancestors, and her gods. 

If she had said she wasn’t near enraptured with the way she spoke, Y’shtola would have known herself to be a liar. It had been a long time since she simply _listened_ to someone, and wasn’t picking apart their words to find the true intent behind them. With Cirina, what she heard was what she got, and what she got was very much to her liking. With Cirina, she didn’t have to be Y’shtola, cultured conjurer of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. She could just _be._

Cirina had offered her respite, in a way that nobody else could. Not any of the Scions. Not Lyse. Certainly not the Warrior of Light. Cirina was an anchor for Y’shtola’s mind and vision, so often clouded in the fog of aether that encroached on her at every hour. The closer she was to her, the easier she was able to navigate through everything. Even the Steppe didn’t feel so hostile, with Cirina sitting beside her.

“I must admit, I’ve never met an outsider so intrigued by the stars. Lord Hien had briefly asked about them during his time recovering with us, but not near so extensively as you.” Cirina leaned her head onto Y'shtola's shoulder, and Y’shtola felt a few soft strands of hair brush against her cheek. A spark flashed within her at the contact, warming her just a touch more than such closeness usually would.  
  
“I never was, before. I suppose it was something I didn’t truly appreciate, until I couldn’t see it anymore. I look upwards, now, and I see nothing but darkness and aether.” Y'shtola's lips pursed for a moment, in perhaps the closest thing to regret she had felt since she came back from the Lifestream.

But then, the moment passed, as she turned back towards Cirina. "That isn't the case anymore, though. Thanks to you."

She heard that small laugh from Cirina. Her ears perked at the sound, and she felt that she could hear it a thousand times without ever tiring of it. Then, she spoke. "I've only shared our stories with you, Y'shtola."

"Stories have a great deal of value," Y'shtola said. "They entertain, they teach, they guide. And here… they fill in gaps I had been unaware of." She smiled at the younger Mol. “I owe you more than you know, Cirina.”

Even without her vision, she could still feel the heat radiating from Cirina’s cheeks. “You’re very kind,” she eventually managed, with a small amount of hesitance in her voice.

“I am only returning your kindness with my own. You have done a great deal for me since we met - certainly more than I would ask of any guide. I am quite glad for our chance meeting.” Y’shtola leaned her head ever so slightly closer to Cirina’s. Any closer, and their foreheads would be touching.

Cirina let out a little sigh, and Y’shtola couldn’t quite tell what was behind it. Happiness? Relief? Comfort? Some mix of the three? All she knew was that it caused the earlier warmth to swell in her chest once more. She’d grown more than used to it - she knew that she would miss it when it was away. She was glad for the night’s remaining youth, and silently ordered the dawn to wait a while longer than usual, if it knew what was good for it.

“Do forgive me,” Cirina said, much more quiet than usual. “Fatigue is making itself known in my bones. May I…?” As she spoke, she slowly leaned downward, adjusting herself until her head was near the scion’s thigh. Y’shtola nodded, and Cirina made her last movements until she was resting in her lap.

The small thought occurred to her that this was _far_ more intimate than she had ever allowed anyone to be with her, especially so soon after meeting them. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to push Cirina away, or even chide her to remove herself. She had only known her for two days at most, and Cirina already felt so… familiar.

Yes, perhaps that was the word. The warmth in her chest, the feeling of Cirina so close to her - there was something so familiar about it all. She couldn’t begin to guess exactly what, but she knew that she wanted to find out.

Y'shtola's mental image of Cirina slowly cleared with their proximity. She had a sense of her hands - how her scales creeped up her wrist. Her hair, so much softer than a life in the Steppe would suggest. She had a good sense of her physical presence, in the ease they had in being close to each other.

Cirina turned in her lap, looking upwards. Whether it was towards the young night sky, or into her eyes, Y'shtola couldn't tell. Perhaps it was both. Her voice, so soft and light, sounded out, as though giving words to thoughts that had been festering for some time.

"Perhaps it was the gods' will that we meet," Cirina said. "They never mentioned that I would cross paths with such an intriguing outsider, but they are mysterious in their guiding way, at times."

Y'shtola chuckled at that. "If the gods conspired to cross our paths, then I am grateful for it. Of the Xaela I have met, you are by far the most pleasant to be around."

Cirina smiled, and let her head rest on Y'shtola's thigh once more. "And of the outsiders I have met, you are the same. Perhaps I should thank Brother Magnai, for his clumsy axe and clumsier words. In a way, were it not for him, I would not have met you, and we would not have spent this day together." 

Y'shtola closed her eyes, and let Cirina shift in her lap. She felt a warmth within her hand, and finally noticed that their hands, even after charting the sky, had never parted. It had happened so naturally, so gently, that she hadn't even noticed it happen. And yet, she didn't let go. Something about it, about this intimacy with Cirina, felt right. More right than anything. She barely even noticed when her fingers twined with the Mol’s, or when both of them gently squeezed the other. It went unspoken, as though they had silently agreed both that this was happening, and that it was desirable.

Exactly how long that gentle, comfortable silence lasted, Y’shtola didn’t think either of them could say. Perhaps a few minutes. Possibly a bell. Maybe an eternity, trapped in one moment. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure she cared. She looked down at Cirina, and realized the fingers of her free hand were brushing the Mol’s bangs away from her eyes.

How easily the two of them had settled into this, she thought.

Cirina eventually let out a soft, sleepy sigh. “I wouldn’t mind staying here to watch the dawn… but you have your duties, do you not?” Her hand remained in Y’shtola’s for just a moment more, before pulling away. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to keep you here when you should be resting.”

For the briefest moment, Y’shtola thought of protesting, of saying that she was resting quite well here already, thank you very much. But she knew it wouldn’t take, and if she didn’t try to get at least some proper sleep, she would most certainly regret it when the time came to channel the aether she needed to at the House of the Crooked Coin. Slowly, her own hands pulled away from Cirina, and she smiled down at her. “And you have your pelts to return to, don’t you?” It was a weak reason to leave this moment in the past. But it would have to do.

She felt Cirina’s hesitance as she rose from Y’shtola’s lap. Whatever she was feeling, it seemed that she felt the same. Perhaps she was smiling too, as weakly as her, fruitlessly scrambling for a reason to stay. They didn’t speak further, only preparing to stand. Perhaps Cirina knew, as Y’shtola did, that saying anything here would only spoil the moments they had shared over the day.

Slowly, the two of them rose. Cirina was right: she needed rest - both of them did. But after the night of storytelling and stargazing, Y'shtola couldn't quite admit to herself that the night was over, even as the carpet was rolled up and stuffed under Cirina's arm. 

She held her hand out towards her. "May I walk you to your ger? It can be quite dangerous out here, especially at night."

Cirina seemed to hang back, confused for a moment. Then, her hand gingerly made its way into Y'shtola's, their fingers lacing together. "Of course. Many a monster can be seen here, and we must keep safe." The two slowly walked, hand in hand, back to the village.

There wasn't a single monster for malms around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one might have gotten away from me a little. Certainly didn't expect to triple the length of the fic in one go!
> 
> We might be earning some of those tags with the next chapter, maybe not. Who knoooooooows


End file.
